


I'm fine!

by mooses_unicorn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Mentions of Past Depression, Nightmares, Reader-Insert, comfort from sam, mentions of abuse, reader gets hurt on a hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:13:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3434843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooses_unicorn/pseuds/mooses_unicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader's been having nightmares about their abusive childhood, causing them to act recklessly on hunts. Sam and Dean notice after reader nearly lets themself get killed by a werewolf. Sam confronts the reader, leading to fluff</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm fine!

You feel the werewolf’s claws digging into your shoulder and your warm blood start to trickle down your chest and arm, but you find you really don’t care as you raise your gun and position the barrel over its heart. You feel your cheek explode with pain as the werewolf hits you, simultaneously bruising and slashing your face as you pull the trigger. The werewolf falls backwards, pulling you down on top of it, your ribs crashing against the side of an up-turned table as you fall. The impact knocks you sideways and you grunt as the claws rip out of your shoulder and you land on your side, rolling away from the dead monster. 

You lie on the floor for a couple of breaths then mentally push away the pain and get up, tucking your gun into the waistband of your pants and wiping the blood from your face with your sleeve. You look over to Sam and Dean who are staring at you.

“What the hell was that, (Y/N)?!” Dean demands, his voice rough with anger and worry. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

“Well, I didn’t. I’m fine,” you retort, fixing him with a cool glare.

“Look at you! You are not fine!” Dean exclaims, eyeing your beat-up body.

“Yes I am!” You argue, walking over to the brothers, making a conscious effort not to limp from the pain in your knee, hip and ankle from where you fell. “Can we just go already?”

As you pass them, heading for the door, you look up at Sam who still hasn’t said a word. He’s staring at you, his face an unreadable mask. No one knows you like the younger Winchester does, oh God I hope he hasn’t figured it out, you think desperately to yourself as you make your way through the door and out onto the street, heading for the Impala. You hear Sam and Dean following you and you wait for them by the car, careful not to make eye contact as you all get in. Once you’re in the backseat, you take your jacket off, ball it up and press it against your still-bleeding shoulder.

***

On the ride back to the bunker you can’t help but let your thoughts drift. You know you’ve been acting reckless on hunts recently, that your concern for you own safety has been pretty much non-existent and you know why. Tomorrow is your mother’s birthday. You haven’t spoken to your parents in nearly a year, not since you walked out on your old life to hit the road and become a hunter. It was the best thing you’d ever done. Even when you were at college, out of their reach physically you still had to communicate every now and again, and every time you did it sent you into another down-ward spiral of depression, eating-disorders and self-harm. It always amazed you that during the infrequent skype conversations or occasional family gatherings that they didn’t even notice your scars or drastic changes in weight, or if they did that they could be so indifferent that they didn’t even ask what happened. There had been times you’d thought about committing suicide, but you didn’t want to inconvenience anyone with your death and even during the darkest times, you’d still had a small glimmer of hope that maybe one day you’d get through this and be able to help other people who were suffering. Then you’d met the Winchesters. A vampire nest had just moved to town and was preying on students, either drinking or turning them. When your best friend had gone missing you insisted on helping the Winchesters get her back, despite their protests that it was too dangerous. You told them you could take care of yourself – you’d been taking kick-boxing classes for a while as anger-management; and you didn’t scare easily – you’d learnt at a young age to be able to hide/ignore pain and after all your emotional trauma you knew that nothing was worse than being trapped inside your own mind, so physical danger really didn’t bother you any more (although you didn’t tell them that part). By the time you’d found the nest it was too late for your friend, but you helped the Winchesters successfully gank the remaining vampires and you knew from that moment that hunting was your way to help people; you finally felt like you had a purpose in life, that you could make a difference, and you loved it. You’d spent the last 11 months living in the bunker and hunting with Sam and Dean, and it’d been the best time of your life. You hadn’t harmed yourself in any way for the entire time you’d been there and had been genuinely happy for the first time in  
as long as you could remember. But the last couple of weeks had been different.

It had started off with nightmares. Every night you’re tormented by dreams of your mother showing up at the bunker and dragging you away, yelling at you for abandoning your family, berating you for your appearance, calling you ungrateful and selfish. You know they’re just dreams, but in the middle of the night when you’re alone in your dark room, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re a failure, that you don’t deserve this wonderful life you’ve found; in your experience good things don’t just happen, or if they do, something will soon come along and snatch it away from you, and that if they do you probably deserve it. It’s worse during the day. The rational side of your brain knows that the dreams won’t come true, but it doesn’t stop you being terrified that they will. What’s worse is knowing that, even after a year away, the thought of your mother can still do this to you. You’re embarrassed that despite being a bad-ass hunter, you could still be shit-scared of another human-being. You can’t even pin-point why you’re so scared, it makes no logical sense, but the thought of seeing your parents brings tears to your eyes and makes you start hyper-ventilating. It’s ridiculous, but you can’t stop it from happening. Every time you look in a mirror you’re dissatisfied with what you see and think maybe you should skip a few meals. You’ve even been tempted a couple of times to take a knife to your wrists again, but you know Sam and Dean would notice the scars straight away and demand an explanation, which you aren’t prepared to give. Sure, you love and trust both of them, and they know your childhood and family sucked, but you sure as hell aren’t going to admit how much it’s still affecting you, how weak you’re being. And so, you started expending your emotional turmoil during hunts. Putting yourself in unnecessary danger, letting the creatures you fought hurt you and relishing the pain, all the while refusing to admit to the boys that anything’s different or wrong. But tonight was different, Dean was right: that werewolf could’ve killed you, and while you don’t fear death, you don’t want to die either. You don’t want to throw away the life you have now, or even if you did, you have a responsibility, a duty to use your skills to save people – how many people would die if you stopped hunting? No, that’s not an option.

***

Dean brings the Impala to a stop outside the bunker and you’re broken from your reverie. You take the blood-stained jacket from your shoulder and test the wound with your fingers and find it’s stopped bleeding. You get out the car and stride toward the bunker, not looking at Sam and Dean, feeling tears building behind your eyes, but you refuse to cry in from of them. You open the door and descend the metal staircase, hearing Sam and Dean’s footsteps behind you. You pause a moment at the bottom, deciding whether to go straight to your room or to the kitchen to get a drink first, when you feel a hand on your un-injured shoulder. You turn with trepidation to see Sam’s face glaring down at you.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, (Y/N)?” he says, his tone making it clear that it’s not a request.

“Sure,” you say, crossing your arms defensively and staring him straight in the eye, just managing to hold back the tears.

Sam puts a surprisingly comforting hand on your back and guides you towards his room. He opens the door and gently steers you inside, motioning for you to sit on the bed. You comply, internally grateful for the chance to sit and take the weight off your sore leg.

Sam remains standing, and runs a hand through his hair once before asking, “Look, (Y/N), what’s going on with you? Something’s wrong, don’t pretend there isn’t, I can tell. Just please talk to me,” he implores.

You’re taken-aback by his caring demeanour. You’d been fully expecting a tirade of yelling about how reckless and irresponsible you’ve been, not the sympathetic concern that’s written all over Sam’s face.

“I… I…” you stutter, looking at your shoes and struggling to hold back the tears. You look up at Sam, to see his eyes full of compassion and a desire to understand, and the dam bursts. Tears stream down your cheeks and you struggle to catch your breath. 

“Hey! It’s ok,” says Sam in surprise, moving to sit next to you on the bed, “I’m here.” He wraps his arms around you and you sob into his plaid-covered chest, all thoughts of maintaining appearances forgotten. You wrap your arms around him and he rests his head on top of yours, stroking your hair soothingly and muttering calming repetitions of “It’s  
ok, it’ll be ok, I’ve got you.”

You sit like that for a while letting all your pent-up emotions of the last fortnight pour out while Sam continues to hold and soothe you. You’ve never been comforted by anyone like this before and it feels good to let someone else take care of you, to know that someone else is looking out for you. You sit there and allow yourself to enjoy the sensation of his strong arms around you, protecting you from the world. Eventually the tears ease up and you take a shaky breath to steady yourself. You sit up a little straighter and look up at Sam.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I know I’ve been acting stupid, I’ve just… the last couple of weeks haven’t been easy.”

“(Y/N), you don’t have to be sorry,” Sam replies gently, his thumb brushing the tears from your cheek. “I just wish you’d come to me or Dean sooner. I hate to think that you’ve been struggling on your own like this.”

You look at Sam and struggle to think of a reply, no one’s ever been this nice to you before. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Sam asks.

“Ye– no. I don’t know,” you say, trying hard to think in words. “It just sounds stupid if I say it out loud.”

“(Y/N), if it’s got you this upset, it’s not stupid,” says Sam firmly and you almost believe him. “I’ve never met anyone as strong as you, this life, hunting, can be hard, I know, but I’ve never once seen it get to you, so if something’s really upsetting you, trust me when I say it’s not nothing and it’s not stupid.”

You manage a weak smile.

“It’s just,” you begin. “You know how my childhood really sucked? And how I kind of hate my family?” you ask hesitantly.

“Uhuh,” Sam nods, waiting for you to go on.

“Well… the last couple of weeks I’ve been having these nightmares about my mother coming and dragging me away from the bunker,” you say speeding up. Now you’ve started the words seem to be pouring out. “And like they’ve been bringing up lots of old feelings and insecurities that I’d thought had gone, but I guess not, and really I’m just embarrassed by how much it all still gets to me, I know it shouldn’t and I know it’s not real and it’s stupid but I just can’t help wanting to starve myself or cut myself and I don’t know why and I just hate that she can still do that to me.” You finish and look at Sam, eyes desperately searching his for an indication of his reaction.

“(Y/N),” Sam says, his voice thick with emotion as he hugs you a little tighter. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea you’ve been feeling that way. I promise I’m here for you, I’m gonna help you any way I can, Dean will too. I know you know they’re just dreams, but yeah, I get it. I know how hard it can be to ignore nightmares. And if your mom ever did show up here, trust me when I say I would never let her anywhere near you.” You feel his body tense-up for a moment as he speaks, as if preparing for the imagined fight. It softens again as he continues, “As for feeling insecure? You’re the most beautiful, intelligent, bravest person I’ve ever met, please believe me when I say you’re perfect the way you are. And if you ever feel like hurting yourself, please just come to me. Any time of the day or night. If you wanna talk, or just not be alone for a bit, that’s ok. I’ll always be here for you.”  
You look up at Sam with shining eyes, a small seed of hope blossoming in your chest: maybe this time you won’t have to do it alone. 

“Really?” you ask, still not quite believing it.

“Really,” he replies, a small smile playing on his lips.

You manage a weak smile back, then nestle your head against his chest once more. He plants a soft kiss on top of your head, which sends a warm glow coursing through your entire body.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let me help you get cleaned up.” He takes your hand in his massive one and leads you into the bathroom. He reaches up into the cabinet to get the medical kit and you just watch him, marvelling at how lucky you are to have found someone as caring as Sam Winchester.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so this was the first fic I ever wrote. Kinda decided I want them all in one place so will be slowly uploading everything here :)


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